By Pennie Azarcon-dela Cruz, Executive Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

IN TONDO during my high school years, one gauged the success of the fiesta by how raucous the sound system was: that meant a lot of people had gathered at the basketball court to watch the pa-Liga and were each trying to convert the game into a one-man comedy hour. Towards late afternoon, there would be the furious thump of running feet and the cacophony of raised voices, often slurred and querulous. “May saksakan! May saksakan! Si Mang Kwan, lasing na naman!” one eventually made out from the general hubbub.

Well, nothing really extraordinary for the occasion. The fiesta, after all, is an exercise in excess, the culmination of the Pinoy’s “bahala na” attitude where one made the most of present circumstance and followed expectations, never mind what comes next. For days on end, we’d be cooking assorted dishes, slicing onions till our eyes bulged with painful tears, polishing the good silver, putting up the good curtains and waxing the floors till they reflected our faces. Always, there would be too much food that we would dutifully try to finish in the days to come. On the third day, tired of all the reheated leftovers, we would heave them into the garbage pile, hoping that Nanay would believe that we had worked up a giant appetite to finish everything off.

It went on till most of us siblings got married, left home and started our own traditions which, thankfully enough, did not include a cooking and feeding frenzy also known as the fiesta. Wary of not leaving our children their own trove of Pinoy memories, however, we made room for summer holidays that revolved around the occasional fiesta — the Pahiyas in Lucban, Quezon or the Sta. Clara festival in Obando, for instance. Because they were seen as extra treats and not obligatory occasions, fiestas retained much of their colorful novelty and infectious good cheer for our kids. Should they expect much more, I can only hope they’d find vicarious enjoyment in my collection of fiesta memories, such as this:

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By Eric S. Caruncho, Staff Writer
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

1. WADD: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOHN C. HOLMES. Both “Boogie Nights” and “Wonderland” were based on the life of Holmes, porn’s first superstar. This documentary follows his rise to X-rated stardom, thanks to his unique physical gifts (13 and 1/2 inches), and his descent into hell as a result of cocaine addiction, culminating in his complicity in the murder of four people and eventual death from AIDS.

2. THE PUNK ROCK MOVIE. A verite document on the rise of punk in London, circa 1978. The low-fi footage taken by Don Letts, the DJ at the legendary London dive the Roxy, adds to the excitement of seeing the Sex Pistols, the Clash, Generation X, X-Ray Spex, Siouxsie and the Banshees and others in their natural habitat.

3. THE MAYOR OF THE SUNSET STRIP. Not another music documentary!? This one tells the story of the rise of rock’n'roll in the Sixties through the eyes of LA disc jockey Rodney Bingenheimer. The supreme hanger-on, Bingenheimer had his photo taken with everyone from John Lennon to Joey Ramone, but he was also often the first to break important new acts through his radio program. It ends on a note of pathos with Bingenheimer relegated to relic status, barely hanging on with a dead zone slot on his radio station.

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

HAVING lived in the metro my entire life, I have a completely different understanding of fiestas. Here, fiestas are almost invisible affairs, palpable only to people who are involved in the parish church. For the rest of the barangay, the fiesta is marked exclusively by the colored (and, notably) recycled plastic flags hanging above the streets. There’s no open house where people can just drop in and eat to their heart’s content. There are no big gatherings. In fact, if you don’t go to church, you can go on completely unaware that there is a fiesta at all.

But within the church, everything revolves around the fiesta, in a way that can only be rivaled by Christmas and Easter. In that sense, it becomes a purely religious event, no longer attached to any social or civic significance.

As mentioned earlier, fiestas are a big deal to those heavily involved in church affairs. This begins with the parish priest (who will be in the shiniest stole combination for the fiesta mass) down to the lay ministers (who will roll out the brand new barong tagalogs for this occasion, so heavily starched the shirts will probably stay standing on their own) to the foot soldiers of the choir (new arrangements and new songs) and us the altar boys.

Yes, you can lower that eyebrow. I was an altar boy at my parish church for five years, from the time I was 13 to the time I was 18. It will be a shock to people who met me in college and beyond, but I took my altar duties pretty seriously and (gasp) even pondered entering the seminary.

Luckily, that little catastrophe never happened, but serving Mass was a major part of my routine for years, and the fiesta was the biggest deal of all. Aside from the fact that the new soutanes were unveiled, there were a lot of processions to attend complete with the Cross, candles and even the incense burner (now that is a difficult piece of equipment to get acquainted with). At the end of every procession was yet another Mass and a good buffet.

But that was pretty much it. Sometimes, there would be a marching band, but that was rare. Otherwise, the fiesta spirit would be fleeting and nearly invisible, fading away like the sound of the church bells tolling.

For more insights, inquisitions and incredible fiesta photos, check out the Sunday Inquirer Magazine’s May 4 issue.